False Picture (6 page)

Well, she didn't know much about prayer, but she was pretty sure that she wasn't capable of that much persistence … fancy sticking at it long enough to get your neighbour out of bed for a loaf of bread! Her mind wandered to what they'd have to eat at the weekend. Maggie usually saw to all that but if Maggie wasn't here, Bea had better do some shopping tomorrow. She turned off the light.

Eleven, and Oliver still hadn't returned. In all the time Oliver had been living with her, he'd never once been out this late. He had undoubtedly been run over and was lying in hospital, mangled beyond belief. If he wasn't back by midnight, she'd start ringing the hospitals.

She lay so that she could see the display on the digital clock on her bedside table. She thought it would be a good idea to pray for Oliver's safety, but she wasn't sure she knew any prayers of that kind. Would it be enough just to say,
Please look after him, please
?

And now she was about it, what about a bit of help for Velma and her Sandy … and she supposed for Philip as well, though it did sound as if Velma's suspicions were justified … and as for Maggie …

Bea smiled.
Yes, please do spare a moment to look after Maggie, because I honestly don't think I ought to have sent her to live in that flat. And yes, I am sorry I did it, it was selfish of me and I really wish I hadn't.

The front door closed, soft footsteps went up past her bedroom door, and on again up to the top of the house where Oliver and Maggie had their rooms. Bea relaxed, turned over in bed, and went to sleep.

The new girl was cut from the same cloth as Charlotte but hid it better. All Brave New World on top, and insecure little beetle underneath. And how she chattered! All about her ex-husband – really one couldn't blame him for telling her to get lost – and her employer who'd given her a room in her house, and was recently bereaved and really ought to take a holiday, and was thinking about going to Bruges, and had anyone else been to Bruges and what was it like … and on … and on …

That voice of hers could be heard all over the flat. She was almost as bad as Charlotte, who fluttered and squawked. Really, Charlotte was just like a hen when she got into a flap. But easy meat. Liam had hardly had to exert himself to have her eating out of his hand. The new girl had fallen for Zander. Hm, well, Zander had carried stolen goods around for Rafael twice already, even if he didn't know it. Rafael's lips twitched into a thin smile. Zander would play ball, if needed.

The big problem was Philip. He hadn't returned, he hadn't been back to the club, or the gym. It was irritating that Philip had chosen to disappear with the picture. What's more, if Philip got drunk – as he often did – and talked about the low price Rafael had offered him for the Millais, questions might be asked. Silence was golden, right? Dead silence.

As for getting the goods away, Charlotte had put the idea into his head, and the more he thought about it, the better it looked. The dear little squawker had seized on the idea of a few days' holiday in Bruges, and Bruges wasn't so far from Amsterdam, was it? As a tourist she could take the gold boxes out with her and his contact could easily connect up with her in Bruges. Charlotte would be the perfect mule.

There was a lot of pressure to get the miniatures out as well. He decided to get Zander to work on the Maggie bird, too.

Saturday morning

I
t seemed strange and rather wonderful to wake up to a silent house. Bea stretched out in bed, enjoying those last few moments of peace and quiet. She usually woke to the sound of Maggie turning on the television and radio downstairs. Dead on half past seven, Maggie would clump in with a cup of tea and draw the curtains back. It was amazing how some people could make so much noise, just by drawing the curtains back. This morning, there was nothing but silence.

No cup of tea, either. And nobody to make breakfast for them. Oliver wouldn't. Oliver couldn't.

It might be a good idea for Maggie to give Oliver some lessons in looking after himself, basic cookery for bachelors, that sort of thing.

Bea got herself dressed and went downstairs to find Oliver in the kitchen, looking lost even though his box of muesli was staring him in the face on the worktop. Bea passed him bowls, plates, mugs, and milk. She put on the kettle, made toast, asked if he wanted anything cooked and realized she was acting just as Maggie did.

Oliver got outside his plate of cereal in record time. ‘I've applied to join the gym. It's good there, lots of help given to first-timers. They'll give me a regime to start on and I can also use the pool, have a juice or a snack afterwards. I paid on my credit card and they didn't need references. I said Philip Weston had told me about the place, that I'd met him in a pub. I'd hoped Philip would be there, but he wasn't. They said he hadn't been around for a while.'

‘Do you mean that he hasn't been around since the burglary?'

‘I don't know. I couldn't get a look at their records last night, but they do keep track of who comes and when, so it shouldn't be impossible for me to suss that out. Then an old schoolfriend was just coming out as I was leaving. I thought he might have known Philip, but lots of people use that gym and my friend couldn't be sure whether he knew him or not. I must take a copy of Philip's photo with me when I see him again.'

Oliver had had one good friend at school but had lost touch when he left home; correction, when he was kicked out by his father. Well, well. Little Oliver was growing up at last. Bea noticed he hadn't mentioned his friend's name. Would it do any good to ask, or merely irritate him? She understood that teenagers didn't like to be cross-questioned about their doings, and she could trust Oliver to be sensible, couldn't she? At least she now knew why he'd got home so late.

He helped himself to another bowl of muesli, and looked at the stove. ‘Any chance of a couple of eggs?'

Bea put some eggs on to boil, adding vinegar to the water to prevent the eggs from bursting in the pan.

Oliver's appetite seemed to have improved with the exercise. ‘I'd rather you didn't tell Maggie I've joined the gym. She's been ribbing me about being on the small side and she'll think I've done it to impress her, which isn't true. I can't help being on the small side. It's genetic.'

Bea hid a smile. Oliver was definitely growing up. ‘Napoleon was the same, and Nelson.'

‘I'm not really the fighting type.'

Bea served him his boiled eggs and toast as the front door burst inwards and Maggie appeared, waving the morning papers.

‘Am I good, or am I good!' she said, whacking them down on the table. ‘Mission accomplished, etcetera. And oh, he's totally, utterly gorgeous, and I seem to have made quite an impression on him, too, because he was all over me till I disentangled myself to get some kip. A bit quick, I thought, but I can't say I disliked it. Oh, my! I turn my back for five minutes and look at the mess you're in.'

She swept their cereal bowls into the dishwasher, removed the milk bottle, threw off her jacket, and went on talking. ‘I just love this job. Going into a flat share is the best thing that could have happened to me. There's two other flats in the block rented by young people and they're in and out of one another's rooms, with a party in one flat or the other every weekend. There's one tonight upstairs that we're all going to and Charlotte – she's a sort of ugly duckling, but she seems to be responsible for the running of the flat – but if you, Mrs Abbot, were to take her in hand maybe you could stop her wearing those heavy dark glasses and hair all over her face as if trying to hide behind it, and her skirts are the wrong length, you know?'

Oliver said, ‘Calm down, sit down, and tell us more about your latest conquest.'

She rolled her eyes. ‘He's got a voice like whipped cream mixed with ginger and chocolate, and his skin's that colour too. He says his parents came from Grenada, but he's as British as you and me, and clever with it. He's going places, is Zander.'

‘Hang about,' said Oliver. ‘I thought you were there to get close to someone called Philip?'

Maggie put out her tongue at Oliver, but hooked the teapot towards her, and poured herself a mug. ‘Philip? I didn't see him. It took me some time to work out who was who, because like I said, people from the flat upstairs seem to spend time in our flat, and vice versa. I nearly made a booboo with one man, thinking he might be Philip, but he wasn't; he was from upstairs.

‘Anyway I did ask Charlotte – that's the ugly duckling – who the other men in the flat might be because I'm sharing a huge bedroom and a shower room with her, but there are three other bedrooms and one of them must be Philip's. She said one of the men seemed to be out and another went out early, I don't know where, but his name's Lee or something like that. Not Philip. Then I met Zander, that's the poppet I've been telling you about. He said Lee, or whatever his name is, had gone out for the evening and that Philip was a bit erratic, might be working late, they could never tell his movements, and that he might be in later, but he wasn't.'

Bea was beginning to feel anxious about the absent Philip. ‘When did they see him last?'

‘Dunno. I couldn't ask outright or it would have looked suspicious. I mean, I'm not supposed to know anything about him, and especially not that he's a murderer.'

‘He may not be,' said Bea. ‘We don't know that. We don't really know anything much about him.'

Maggie downed her mug of tea and said, ‘Aah. I needed that, though I must admit I prefer coffee to kickstart me in the mornings. I didn't like to drink out of any of their mugs at the flat, because they're all stained and the dirt round the handles has to be seen to be believed. The place is a tip. I asked Charlotte why they didn't have a cleaner and she said that they had had one but there'd been arguments about paying her, and then they'd tried to get a roster going, everyone doing their share, but of course the men didn't lift a finger, and Charlotte's got enough to do at work without taking on a cleaning job as well, and why should she? I mean, it's not right, is it? So she asked me if I could find someone for them at the agency, because of course I was quite open about what I do as you said I was to be, and of course I said yes – and ta-da! Aren't I Miss Clever Clogs?'

Bea said, ‘But we don't have any cleaners on our books who are capable of ferreting out the truth about Philip.'

‘No, but
you
could,' said Maggie, dancing around the room. ‘I said, I know just the person, someone a bit older but experienced and tactful. I said she's a widow, fallen on hard times, and she could start straight away. So here are your keys, Mrs Abbot, and if you like I'll take you over there and you can get started right away.'

Oliver choked on his tea. Maggie hit him on his back, and Bea … Bea didn't know whether to laugh or cry. ‘But I haven't been out cleaning for years.'

‘Keys,' said Maggie, dangling them in front of Bea, ‘to the outer door, to the flat. There's a porter, has a cubby hole off the foyer, acts as janitor. Charlotte introduced me to him last night. She went down and told him I was going to bring in a cleaner, so it's all been cleared with Higher Authority. I'll help you get started and then I can get back here and get on with the usual, because it doesn't look like they've a reasonable hoover, or duster or a smidgeon of bleach anywhere. So, shall we get started, then?'

Bea couldn't go out to clean wearing one of her boutique outfits, so borrowed a gaudy T-shirt from Maggie, found some old black jogging trousers and a pair of reasonably decent trainers to wear. When she'd gone out on jobs for the agency in the old days she'd worn an outfit of black T-shirt and slacks, with a many-pocketed apron to carry her tools around with her. By great good fortune, she found it neatly folded in her closet, and slung it into a large plastic bag to take with her.

She took off her make-up and looked at herself in the mirror, feeling frowsty and boring, especially when she brushed her fringe straight down over her eyes, instead of at an angle.

Meanwhile, Maggie scurried around, putting together a basket of cleaning materials. ‘If we can't get their hoover to work we might have to take ours, in which case we'll need a taxi to get everything there and back.'

Down Church Street they went, carrying the basket between them. Bea had a job to keep up with Maggie, who would have been hopping and skipping along if she hadn't had to wait for the older woman.

‘I'm getting too old for this,' said Bea, as she sorted keys under Maggie's eye and let them into the hallway of the flats.

‘You're doing all right for your age,' said Maggie, unconsciously making Bea feel even worse. ‘Oh, this is Randolph, our wonderful doorman. Randolph, this is the cleaner that Charlotte told you about, all right?' She led the way to the lift, saying to Bea, ‘You need a holiday, that's all.'

‘You haven't forgotten I've only just come back from a trip halfway round the world?'

‘Yes, but you were nursing your poor dear husband all the time, and for ages before, weren't you? So, why not take off for a bit? Zander says he's been to Bruges and likes it. He thinks you should go on a package tour of some kind, so that you didn't have to go alone.'

Bea shuddered at the thought of a package holiday. She'd have to make an effort to be nice when she didn't feel like it, and probably have to share a bedroom with someone who snored. Not a good idea. However, Maggie had brought up a subject she hadn't thought about. What was she going to do about holidays in future? Find another widow to go around with?

The flat was on the third floor. As Bea opened the front door and sniffed the air, she knew what she'd find; closed windows, dirty socks, inadequately cleaned bathroom and kitchen. The fridge probably had mould growing behind it, the oven would be unused and the microwave brand new. The dishwasher might work, but the washing machine probably didn't. On the other hand, there would probably be a giant television in the sitting room, plus stereo equipment capable of filling the Albert Hall.